


Seven Plus One

by ABlackRaven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Sirius Black Adopts Harry Potter, Sirius Black Free from Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABlackRaven/pseuds/ABlackRaven
Summary: Seven Times Harry Called Sirius “Uncle” and One Time He Called Him DadPettigrew doesn't escape, Harry leaves an abusive Dursley family to live with Sirius and Remus, the three of them learn how to heal as the world falls apart.
Relationships: Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 72
Kudos: 582





	1. A Point Of Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> Credit given where credit is most certainly due, this story is heavily inspired by the work A Second Chance by Breanie. A Second Chance is a truly epic work still being regularly updated. It is well over a million words long. If you are looking for an incredible Harry Potter work in which Sirius raises Harry, I highly recommend it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Harry talk

**A Point of Divergence**

Harry stared up at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing numbly, exhaustion dragging at him physically and emotionally. They’d barely made it back to the castle before he had needed Hermione’s support to stand. The events of the past twenty-four hours felt strangely remote, almost dreamlike. The encounter at the shrieking shack, the offer of a new home with Sirius, the transformation of Lupin into a werewolf, the near escape of Peter Pettigrew, the time turner, the dementors….

The dementors. Harry shuddered, remembering a bone-chilling coldness that he wasn’t sure would ever leave him. When he closed the eyes he could not escape the memory; he saw their bodies lying side by side, dying. If they had been a minute later, if the Patronus spell had failed, Harry distantly realized he wouldn’t be drawing breath at all. 

_ But it didn’t fail,  _ He tried to remind himself, glancing over to where Madam Pomfrey was fussing about Sirius. His godfather looked exhausted.  _ We survived. _

So that left him with an unanswered question; what now? Sirius’ offer of a home felt so distant and surreal now. Harry wasn’t sure he could really take the man up on the offer, however much every fiber of his being yearned to. Azkaban had left his godfather haunted, his life shattered. He didn’t need another burden in his life, of that Harry was certain. 

_ Will the Dursley’s even take me back?  _ Harry wasn’t sure. He hadn’t communicated with them since before the school year, and after the circumstances he left in...Harry didn’t know they would react to having him under his roof again.  _ Then again,  _ He mused,  _ Dumbledore will convince them.  _

And with that thought returning to the Dursleys once again sunk into his mind as an inevitability. Dred and hope wrestled in his mind, part of him screaming he had been foolish to think Sirius would take him in. Why would he have anywhere else to go? Nothing ever really changed in his life. He would have to go back, like always. Somehow he would survive a summer of Vernon’s rage like he always did, and he would get back to Hogwarts in the fall.

Just the thought of it was tiring, but there was no helping it. 

“Harry?” A voice startled Harry out of his train of thought. He turned in surprise to see Sirius, sitting down next to him, “You’ve been staring off into the distance. How are you doing with...everything?” Sirius’ voice was croaky, almost painful, yet tender and soft. 

“I…” Harry struggled, wanting to assume his usual shield of bravado Gryffindor strength, but finding it impossible when he met his godfather’s eyes, “I don’t know.” He suddenly hated how small his voice felt, how vulnerable. 

Sirius sighed, “I guess...that’s to be expected, Harry. It doesn’t escape me that without you, Pettigrew would have escaped. It doesn’t escape me that without you, we’d both be...” He trailed off, grappling with a sea of emotions behind his eyes. 

“But we aren’t,” Harry said softly, turning a bit.

Sirius smiled, an expression that looked so foreign on his hollow features, almost as if he had forgotten how. “I expect you’re tired of hearing this,” Sirius put a hand gently on Harry’s shoulder, “But you look...so like your father. Except for your eyes, you have--”

“My mother’s eyes,” Harry finished. 

“It’s cruel that I got to spend so much time with James and Lily and you so little. They loved you so much, Harry.” For a moment they were both silent, unspoken questions and fears hanging heavily in the air. “Listen, Harry,” Sirius sighed deeply, “We spoke earlier...about you moving in with me, and I want you to know nothing would make me happier than that but,” Harry braced himself, preparing for the rejection he expected, “I don’t want you,” Harry visibly flinched, “To feel like you have to say yes to my offer. I worry it was a bit of a spur of the moment decision earlier when...Harry, are you alright?” 

Distantly, Harry realized Sirius was staring at him with concern. His breath seized in his lungs with the emotions straining at his chest; oxygen suddenly seemed to descend on him in what felt like a cage. The thought of returning to the Dursleys, after everything that had happened, was suddenly too much. Harry was deeply afraid, his bravery having found the edges of its limits. 

_ Ungrateful freakish boy,  _ A voice, not quite his own, reverberated tauntingly in his mind.  _ Sirius doesn’t want you around. Be a good kid for once. He’s only guilty, obligated by the memory of old friends. He doesn’t actually want you around. You do not deserve his kindness.  _

“Harry,” Dimly, he realized Sirius was rubbing soft circles in his shoulder as he struggled to breathe. That touch, so small, yet so comforting, slowly pulled him out of the daze of fear and guilt that had swamped him. 

“I’m sorry,” He managed to mutter, his breath choking on the words. 

“You have nothing to apologize for Harry,” The hand did not leave his shoulder, even as he began to breathe evenly again. “I...I have so many things to apologize to you for. I would have died before betraying your parents, I should have, I should have been the Secret Keeper. I haven’t been here for you...for twelve...twelve long years.” 

Harry stared back at him, finding it impossible to place even a shred of that blame on the man before him, “I forgive you,” He said finally, wondering what else he would possibly say. “And I’m sure they would also,” He added after a moment. 

Sirius shook his head grimly, “I never will Harry. I want...I desperately want nothing more than a chance to be here for you, but I don’t think I’ve earned that place in your life. I don’t want to rip you away from the only home you’ve known.” 

Something in Harry broke apart, the word  _ home  _ ringing in his head like a thunderclap, “Hogwarts is my home,” He whispered, “The Dursleys…” The words, struggling at just the tip of his tongue, failed to leave him. 

_ Ungrateful.  _

Sirius’ eyes narrowed, “Harry,” He said softly, leaning in slightly, “Do you want to go back there for the summer? If you say no...I will move heaven and earth to try to make up for my failures. I will give you a home with me if that is what you want.” His voice was steadier than Harry had ever heard it. 

Harry struggled for a moment, fighting to not let the tears at the corners of his eyes fall. When he spoke his voice was quiet, muffled, and caught on the tears, “I don’t want to be a burden to you.” 

“Harry,” Sirius abruptly moved then and he found himself instinctually flinching before his godfather pulled him into a firm embrace, “You will  _ never  _ be a burden to me.” Harry melted into the touch, craving every moment of comfort it provided. He couldn’t remember being held close like this, cared for...ever. 

“I…” He breathed deeply as they broke apart to meet eyes, trying to maintain his composure, “I meant what I said before...Sirius. I want to leave the Dursleys.” 

Sirius nodded, smiling widely, “As soon as I am cleared Harry, I will get you away from there, I promise. We’re nearly there, Harry, we just have to hang on a little longer.” 

Harry nodded, for the first time since the Dementors swarmed them, feeling truly hopeful. There was light at the end of the dark tunnel, an end to the pain in sight. He wasn’t sure exactly where they’d end up, but he felt without it being spoken Sirius would stand by him and support him till they got there. 

“Sirius?” He asked finally, managing a smile, “I don’t...I don’t know what to call you.” 

Sirius smiled in return, “Well, Harry, if things were right in the world I imagine I would have been ‘Uncle Sirius,’ for the past twelve years. If you want, I could be that now.” 

Harry nodded, “Okay…Uncle Sirius. I’d like that” 


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry leaves the Dursleys

**Welcome Home**

Harry sat on the edge of his bed, taking a long look at the baren room around him. His trunk sat on the end of the bed and Hedwig’s empty cage rested on the desk, Hedwig having flown ahead to the address of Sirius’ last letter. 

Fitting all his belongings worth keeping into his school trunk was simple, depressingly easy. He had known he would never be missed here, but somehow this made that feeling concrete. There was nothing left to identify the room as his, and it had barely changed. 

He was as much a stranger in this house as a random person on the street. At what point had they ever cared to stop and listen, to even get to know him? Never. Harry, as a person, was not known to this house, was not even remotely cared about by this house. 

For the past two weeks, he had occupied this room, waiting for the Ministry to reach a decision. Professor Dumbledore had come at the beginning to explain and have them sign paperwork; Vernon and Petunia had been all too eager to be rid of him. If there was any remorse it was for the chores Harry normally took care of. 

Vernon lost his temper the third night, and Harry wasn’t surprised when he was at the receiving end. Some things never changed. 

Most days they left him completely alone outside the list of chores Petunia gave him, and that suited him just fine. Vernon’s hand wasn’t nearly as swift as it had been when he was younger. By this point that abuse had faded to just a fact of life.

One or two of his bones felt possibly broken, but Harry tended to them as he always had and moved on. The bruises, most of which had begun to fade at the edges to a sickly yellow, didn’t even really hurt anymore. The stagnant apathy towards him that prevailed in between the bouts of anger was even easier to handle. So Harry endured, keeping an eye on the end of the tunnel. 

Sirius wrote every day, keeping him updated. In these letters between them, Harry felt the beginnings of a strange sort of friendship, one that somehow felt entirely foreign and achingly familiar at the same time. When Sirius introduced the idea of them moving in with Professor Lupin, stressing that it was his decision if it was too much, it felt natural to Harry to say yes. Lupin wrote several days after that, just a short note. His friends wrote several times, wanting to hear news and telling him about their lives, and Harry was surprised to realize they didn’t feel nearly as far away as summer normally made them feel. 

Vernon wasn’t brave enough to hurt Harry in any way Sirius could catch wind of, so Hedwig was allowed absolute freedom. He was reminded with every letter he wasn’t alone. Compared to past summers at the Dursleys, this was practically bliss. 

And today he woke up knowing it would soon all be over. That thought, the knowledge that someone cared enough to take him in willingly, warmed Harry’s chest with a feeling of enveloping warmth. Sirius had fought an uphill battle for him, even arguing with Dumbledore in the beginning. 

Part of him felt guilty for that, it didn’t seem right someone should go through so much trouble. Harry pushed that part aside, swore at that moment he would do everything to be a good...ward to Sirius.  _ I won’t be a burden, won’t be trouble.  _

Sirius certainly didn’t need the weight of more guilt, and Harry was determined to shield him from it. He knew how people reacted to the truth of his life at the Dursleys, how Hermoine had been suspicious and worried early on. When he was younger it was normal, and even as he grew older the reactions of people seemed disproportionate. There was a definitive reason Harry never changed with the rest of the Quidditch team. There was a definitive reason Dumbledore didn’t know. 

Some scars were better left hidden. 

_ And Sirius won’t find out either. What does it matter now, anyway?  _

The doorbell rang and Harry practically leapt to his feet, dragging the trunk along with him down the stairs. Vernon greeted him with a contemptuous sneer, “It’s about time you were out of here boy. Mind that if he changes his mind you’re never coming back here.” 

“Don’t worry,” Harry smirked, “Not planning on it.” 

Petunia opened the door, revealing Sirius’ grinning face. He looked much better than the last time Harry had seen him in person; two weeks of not living on the run had done him a lot of good. He had his hair trimmed somewhat, slightly taming the unruly mass of brown. He had fresh, nice clothes. There was still a distant look in his gaze, an invisible barrier between the man’s smile and his eyes, but that was to be expected. 

“Harry! Sorry for the wait, you know how the Ministry is,” Sirius moved forward, pulling Harry into a brief hug. Behind him, slightly out of the doorway, stood Professor Lupin, who gave a bit of a wave by way of greeting. 

“Uncle Sirius,” He grinned, managing to stop himself from flinching at the contact. 

Petunia loudly cleared her throat, “So? Are you leaving now? We don’t need you lot hanging about.” 

Sirius stared at her momentarily, a frown creasing his forehead, “Right well, I suppose...thanks are given where they are due. I’m grateful for you for taking in my godson these past twelve years.” 

Vernon sneered, “The boy’s your problem now. Good riddance.” 

Harry watched as both Sirius and Professor Lupin’s expressions darkened with anger. He flinched, reacting to the tension in the air. Sirius’ hand rested on his shoulder, gently moving him towards the door, “Uh, what should I do with my trunk?” 

Professor Lupin casually waved his wand, shrinking the trunk and slipping it into a pocket. Petunia visibly paled at the use of magic, stopping her foot with an air of disgust, “Oh, just be gone already! We don’t need your freakishness here.” 

Sirius rounded on the Dursleys in the hallway, meeting Vernon’s contempt with his own, “I do hope Harry has been well treated here Dursley,” He practically spat out the words, “I assure you, we’re not in any hurry to stay.” 

“I--” Vernon began to shout, but Harry cut him off. 

“Thank you,” he said quickly, trying desperately to keep the truth silent. Sirius turned to look at him, confused, as he continued, “I know I wasn’t the easiest to have around for twelve years,” Harry continued, biting back his nausea at the lies. “I really appreciate you taking me in. Sorry we were never really close. I guess...goodbye.” 

Sirius turned back to Vernon, “Goodbye indeed,” He strode with an air of superiority to the door, slamming it behind him. Sirius then turned to Harry and Lupin with an abrupt smile, “Well then, we’re off I suppose.” 

Harry looked around in confusion, “How?” 

Professor Lupin held out an arm, “Apparition, Harry. Sirius would do it himself but his magic is a bit drained since...everything and he can’t manage side-along yet.” 

Sirius rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment, “It’ll be a bit jarring for a moment Harry, most people vomit the first time, but it’s the fastest way to get where we’re going. It’ll only last a moment, I promise.” Harry nodded and swallowed his apprehension, taking hold of Lupin’s arm. 

They turned on the spot and Harry felt the world twist away around him. Darkness suddenly surrounded them from all sides and with it came an enormous pressure. Breathing became futile as they spun in the void of inky black. His chest tightened, his eyeballs pushed into his skull, and his eardrums felt like they might explode. With a popping noise they reappeared, leaving Harry gasping for breath. 

“Well done Harry,” Sirius’ voice came with a reassuring weight on his shoulders, “Just breathe for a moment. We’re...we’re here now.” 

Harry looked up, taking the forest around them. Where the oak trees cleared stood a large two-story cottage with white walls and a dark grey roof. Ivy crawled up the sides of the place as if it was one with the natural world around it. They stood on a gravel road which led to the front door of the cottage, and off into the distant woods in the other. Harry blinked in surprise, not entirely sure where he had expected them to go, but not expecting this, “Where are we, Uncle Sirius?” 

Sirius smiled, “Welcome to Lupin Cottage, Harry. Welcome home.” 


	3. A Period of Adjustment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry enters a period of adjustment

**A Period Of Adjustment**

The front door opened into a homey living room, where a sofa and two armchairs gathered comfortably around a modest fireplace. Books were crammed into a towering shelf along the wall. On the walls hung various old photographs, people Harry recognized as his parents and their friends smiling widely in them. To the left was a steep set of white steps. Shortly. the living room gave way to the dining room, where three mismatched chairs circled an ancient piece of oak furniture. Beyond that was a kitchen, filled with an odd mixture of old muggle appliances. 

Sirius began to ascend the crooked steps, “Let’s get you settled Harry.” 

Harry smiled, following him to the second story. The upstairs was divided by a hallway, which ended at a small bathroom. More photos hung on the walls here, some with faces entirely foreign to him. To the left was one door and to the right were two doors. Sirius gestured proudly at the first door on the right, on which hung a small metal tag. 

_ “Harry,”  _ The tag read simply. 

A wave of tense emotions hit him in the chest at the sight, not dissimilar from the feeling he had when he arrived at Hogwarts the first time and saw the bed that had been set aside for him, specifically him. A feeling of belonging, of acceptance, of…

_ They feel guilty. You are a burden.  _

“Here’s your room,” Sirius said with a wide smile, “Remus and I are the door on the left, the farthest door is to the library.” 

“Anytime you need us, Harry,” Lupin walked up behind them, slightly startling him, “Our door and any others are open to you.” Harry nodded, striving to keep his face impassive as Sirius opened the door to his room. 

Light streamed in from the evening sun through the open window, the white curtains drawn back. Hedwig rested openly on a perch before the window, clearly pleased with her arrangements. A bed covered in light blue sheets took the corner of the small, but comfortably snug, room. It was flanked by a small nightstand and a writing desk, above which hung a circular mirror. At the foot of the bed was a tall wardrobe. Along the left side of the room stood a bookshelf, mostly empty. Hung proudly above the bed was a bright Gryffindor banner. 

It already felt more like home than the Dursleys’ ever could have. 

_ Too much for you. Don’t deserve it.  _

Harry’s emotions tipped over like a boiling cauldron, catching in his throat and leaving him at a momentary loss for words. He turned to Sirius and Professor Lupin, “I…” Harry trailed off, “Thank you.” 

Lupin smiled, setting his trunk on the end of the bed and unshrinking it, “You’ll always be welcome to call wherever we stay home, Harry.” 

Sirius pulled him into a small hug and then walked to the door, “We’ll leave you to unpack while we make dinner, should be ready in an hour or so.” 

Harry turned as they left the room, momentarily desperate to be of some help, “I can make dinner,” He blurted out suddenly. 

The two older wizards shared a quick glance and then Sirius shook his head, “The offer is appreciated Harry, really, but you don’t have too. For tonight just let us take care of it, okay?” 

Lupin grinned, “Don’t worry, I’ll be there to make sure the kitchen isn’t blown up by Padfoot’s cooking skills.” 

Sirius laughed and left him with one last reassuring touch on the shoulder, “Just rest for now Harry. I’ll be back up in a bit to talk.” 

Harry sighed, pulling himself to his feet and moving to unpack his trunk. On the shelf, he set his textbooks and the photo album, grateful to not have to lock away his magical things like they were shameful. Along this train of thought, he removed the temporary Shrinking Sticker he bought last year for his broom and leaned it against the wall. After a moment of consideration, he changed into the nicer muggle clothes he had bought himself, clothes he hadn’t dared to wear around the Dursley’s for fear of accusations of thievery. His collection of clothing felt strangely small when dwarfed by the large wardrobe. 

Then Harry was left with little else to do, feeling once again overcome with exhaustion. He practically collapsed as he sat down on the bed. The pain in his chest and across his back, shoved away and compartmentalized to fade to a distant ache, suddenly became difficult to ignore. 

Part of him wondered if Sirius and Lupin could help. 

_ Don’t bother them.  _

Something was breaking apart in him, the removal of a constant pressure that had surrounded him all his life left him strangely lost in its absence. The pressure had hurt, but it had given his life a structure he understood. It had given him a set of rules to understand existence. Without it, Harry wasn’t sure who he was anymore.

Because for the first time, he really wasn’t afraid anymore. Underlying everything, even every moment he spent at Hogwarts, had always been a constant thrum of anxiety and dread. Somehow, even though he barely felt like he knew them, he deeply trusted Sirius and Lupin. He wasn’t sure what his place in this household was, but he didn’t have to cower in the shadows anymore. He didn’t have to cook the meal to eat the leftovers. 

Liberation was weirdly painful. 

A quiet, shaking sob, escaped him. He buried his face in his hands, pressing his eyes shut to hold back the tears. Harry resisted the panic, knowing with every second he had entered a losing battle. Faint reverberations of memories and shouted, hateful words, echoed at the edges of his thoughts. His knuckles turned white as his hands curled into fists and his nails cut into his palms. Why was anxiety so much easier to control under pressure? 

_ Pull it together Potter.  _

“Harry?” He flinched at the voice, cursing his timing. Sirius stood in the doorway, an expression of deep concern across his features. Harry struggled for a moment with the air caught in his chest and finally couldn’t bear to meet his godfather’s eyes anymore. He turned away, shame and guilt burning in his heart. He barely registered the weight as Sirius sat down beside him, resting his hand naturally on his shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry managed to murmur finally. 

Sirius shook his head, “Harry…” He appeared to also be at a loss for words, grappling with his own emotions for a moment. Once again Harry cursed himself for adding to the man’s list of burdens. “You have nothing to apologize for. I...I’m guessing the Dursleys were...a bad place to grow up.” 

Harry shook his head in desperation, “It wasn’t...it could have been worse.” 

“Harry, life can always be worse. Pain is pain,” Sirius took a deep, shuddering breath. “And believe me, I think I understand. Harry...Harry, did they hurt you?” 

He winced at the question, desperately looking for the strength to deny it, to laugh off Sirius’ concerns in a way that would dismiss them. Lies caught on his tongue, refusing to leave. When he did speak, it was barely a whisper.

“Yes.” 

Sirius breathed deeply at the answer, emotions clearly tearing him apart somewhere behind a mask of strength. Harry was surprised to see momentary anger, anger that in no way was directed at him. His godfather pulled him slightly closer, his touch hesitantly light, “Harry...neither of us will force you to talk before you’re ready. We’re caught in a...strange period of adjustment here for a bit. I hope that one day you’ll be ready to talk...and if you choose to talk to me I will always be here to listen. Right now I can only give you a promise and a question.” 

Harry nodded, the words feeling strangely disconnected as he stared off into the distance, avoiding his godfather's gaze, “Okay.” 

Sirius’ voice grew stronger, steady with deeper resolve, “First, I promise you will always be loved here Harry, you will always be safe. No one will...no one will ever hurt you here,” Harry nodded, the promise momentarily enveloping him in a feeling of security. “Second, I have to ask if...are you hurt right now, Harry?” 

Again, attempts to brush off the question died in his throat. Harry could only nod. 

“Can I help you, Harry?” The voice was soft, light. Sirius held up a handful of potions Harry distantly recognized from trips to the Hospital Wing. 

“Yes…” Harry trailed off, taking a deep breath. “Please, Uncle Sirius. I’m sorry I’m a bother I just…” 

“Shh Harry,” Lupin’s voice from the doorway suddenly arrived, startling Harry slightly, “Let us take care of you. Let us give you a home.” 


	4. The Last Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to Godric's Hollow

**The Last Enemy**

Over the weeks of the warm summer month of June, the three inhabitants of Lupin Cottage steadily fell into a rhythm of life. There was trial and error and mistakes made along the way, but they got through it. It felt natural to all of them. It was as if they were entering an old routine they had merely forgotten, only needing a simple reminder for it to come back. 

Sirius soaked in every moment with his godson. He flew beside Harry as they played pickup Quidditch, wholly impressed by his godson’s skill. He cooked and baked with Harry, finding pleasure from these simple tasks like never before. He watched Harry’s happiness at being allowed to see his friends and felt a surge of relief that Harry had found such good people to have standing beside him. 

He spent long hours talking with Harry about nothing of particular importance, letting a relationship of trust slowly build between them. Harry wasn’t sleeping well, he refused to talk about any of his nightmares, and Remus insisted they had to give him time. He didn’t pressure Harry in the moments when the past shadowed his gaze and he stared off blankly into the distance, only gently reminded him he was not alone. Sirius fixed every precious moment of laughter and every smile in his heart, holding Harry close to his soul. 

It began to fill the hole the years in Azkaban had carved out of him. The wounds were still open and bleeding, but Sirius felt them finally begin to heal. Not that healing was an even remotely painless process. 

Guilt, guilt that had festered for long years in the darkness of Azkaban, still plagued him. The first night Harry stayed in the cottage, after Sirius was sure he had fallen asleep, Sirius marched outside and punched the wall until his hands began to bleed. The sight of Harry’s injuries, of the tapestry of old scars across his skin...the knowledge that he hadn’t been there like he should have been, hurt more than any physical injury he had ever felt. 

_ All your fault! You worthless idiot! _

Remus found him there and held him as he finally broke apart. Before the trial he had forced himself to remain composed, knowing any issues could have put Harry’s custody into question. At that moment, he let go of the wall he had built up. Remus was there. 

Whenever it was too much to bear, Remus was there. When he woke up shaking with the nightmare, Remus was there. When he felt himself draw distantly away, Remus was there to pull him back. Remus gave him the space to heal, the space to  _ not  _ be okay, something he desperately needed if he was going to help Harry. 

Remus was there every moment, for both him and Harry. He was a steady presence in the house, openly welcoming both of them back into his life. Sirius didn’t know what they would have done without him, he knew he would have broken apart. How could he have taken in Harry then? 

Remus saved them. 

Sirius remembered that awful anxiety that tormented him when Remus first sat down to talk with him after Peter’s arrest, and the wave of relief that hit him when they both decided to try to reclaim what had been lost. 

Of course, things had changed between them. They were different men, older men. Twelve years had left them both with new scars. But the strength of the bond between them had endured, had managed to rekindle itself into a steady flame. 

Life went on, and they found the strength together to follow it. 

Sirius would never forget the look of shock on Harry’s face on his fourteenth birthday. The Weasleys, Hermonie, and Hagrid had gathered and planned in secret with Remus and Sirius to surprise Harry, giving him what they realized were his first proper birthday memories. Life finally began to feel normal in small, isolated bubbles of blissful happiness. 

That evening, Harry, Remus, and Sirius apparated together, arriving in Godric’s Hollow with a loud pop. When Sirius had proposed they visit for Harry’s birthday, Harry had both jumped to and recoiled from the idea. They gave him time and space to make the decision, stressing he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to; if he wasn’t ready, they would wait. 

Then, actually standing in Godric’s Hollow, Sirius was left wondering he should have questioned his own readiness to come back here. Potter cottage stood hauntingly still in the evening light, the familiar two-story structure feeling so strangely devoid of life. If it weren’t for the gaping hole torn into the nursery, a reminder of the painful wound they all felt, if it weren’t for the general look of neglect about the hedges and lawn, he might have been able to pretend his friends were still somewhere inside. 

But of course, they weren’t. 

Memories of the last time he had stood here pulled at the edges of his thoughts. Pain, unlike anything he could have imagined, as he came upon his friends, dead. A glimmer of desperate hope as he saw Hagrid, holding Harry. Fiery, deep rage as he left determined to seek revenge. 

Sorrow. Regret. Guilt. 

The trio stood in silence for a long moment. Sirius found one of his arms around Harry, holding him close in a light embrace. His free hand intertwined with Remus’ unconsciously. The touch grounded him at the moment, somehow kept him from falling apart under the wave of grief that gripped him. 

After letting the moment pass, Remus finally spoke, “Alright,” He said softly. “Let’s head to the graveyard.” Sirius walked softly along, letting Remus guide them forward.

They came first upon a stone obelisk, carved with names, victims of the war. As they approached it changed, turning into a statue memorializing the Potter family. Sirius stared, holding Harry close as they came to a stop. To see them again, James and Lily, fixed in stone as they were in life, to see Harry as a wee baby, his forehead unmarred by the scar, sent a jolting pain into his chest. 

“We look happy,” Harry’s voice almost startled Sirius. 

Belatedly, he realized he was silently crying, “You were,” He managed to say, wiping away the tears jerkily. “I never saw James happier than when he was with you and Lily. Harry...you were…you were their entire world.” 

They continued on, letting Remus lead them to the grave. In the stark white marble the words were easily read, almost glowing in the evening light. Sirius stared at the headstone for a moment, finding it very painful to breathe. He suddenly came to the realization there had been a funeral he couldn’t attend.

_ And why should you have?  _ A voice shrieked in a darker corner of his mind.  _ What right do you have to stand here grieving? Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.  _ A hand, intertwined tightly with his own, pulled him out of the darkness, but it still lingered at the edge. 

JAMES POTTER

BORN 27 MARCH 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

LILY POTTER

BORN 30 JANUARY 1960

DIED 31 OCTOBER 1981

_ The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.  _

Sirius felt the familiar feeling of falling apart, of the pain, typically kept bottled up so tightly in his chest, bursting free of its cage. Shaking sobs escaped him, and if Remus had not moved to support him he was sure he would have collapsed entirely. Remus was crying too, silently, even as he held him. Harry, steadier, leaned closer into Sirius’ side. The events of the past had left their lives torn apart, and now the three of them were left clutching to each other’s presence to make it through. 

Harry was there for them, Sirius realized, as much as they were there for him. 

* * *

Harry stared at the wall of his room, feeling himself fall into a familiar lack of awareness. Remus had called it dissociating and given him a list of tricks from a book to use to pull himself out of it. Now he felt all memory of those techniques leave him, swamped by the feelings that had hit him as he looked upon his parents grave. 

What, exactly, was he supposed to feel? His sadness, his grief, if that emptiness was what grief was, couldn’t be the same as the men who stood beside him. He knew his parents only in stories, pictures, and a half-remembered memory of his mother’s screaming and a flash of green light. He felt the hole their deaths had carved out in the world only distantly, almost secondhand. 

_ Greedy. Ungrateful. Spoiled.  _

It was longing that had overcome him as he looked upon their names. He longed to know them as Sirius and Remus had. He longed for a daydream of a life without the horror Voldemort had inflicted upon the world, a life where he grew up in a home filled with love, a life where they were all left without the scars of old wounds, a life where he could have been just...Harry. 

Just Harry. 

_ The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.  _

That phrase ricocheted around with the emotions in his head. He couldn’t quite puzzle out the meaning of it, couldn’t quite let it rest. How could death ever possibly be destroyed? Wasn’t that the sort of idea that led to people making troublesome things like the sorcerer's stone? Why was it on his parents' grave? 

The weight of all of it was suddenly too much to bear alone, and Harry found himself standing on his feet before he had thought it through, walking quickly to the door of his room, intending to go downstairs to his godfather. He hesitated then, remembering the look on Sirius’ face earlier. His godfather was perhaps even more troubled by the past than he was. 

But hadn’t he insisted he would be there to listen? Hadn’t he promised, time and time again Harry was not a burden to have near? 

_ But you are.  _

But he wasn’t. On a deeply logical, almost structural level, Harry knew down to his bones he was loved in this house. There were people who wanted to listen, to talk, to simply be there for him. And, perhaps even more importantly, there were people in this house Harry wanted to be there for. 

Harry opened the door and walked downstairs, finding Sirius sitting alone in the living room, distantly staring at the pages of a book. He wasn’t really reading, hadn’t turned a page in minutes. Quietly Harry sat down beside him on the sofa, letting a comfortable silence hang between them before speaking. 

“Uncle Sirius,” He began, unsure of what he could possibly say. Sirius sat the book down immediately, turning to meet Harry’s eyes. “I...thank you for today. I know you said you don’t want to thank you for things but I can’t not...I can’t not be grateful. For years I was told they were...drunks, vagabonds, who died in a car crash. To see the memorial, to see the dignity of their resting place, that meant a lot.” 

Sirius moved closer, and Harry finally found he finally didn’t have to struggle not to flinch, “You are incredible Harry. You’re the best of them, of us. I look at you and I see their courage, their strength, their kindness, and something uniquely you. They would have been...so proud Harry.” 

He wasn’t ashamed of the tears that escaped him, silent, trickling. Harry let the silence hold them together for a moment, knowing Sirius needed him there for the moment. “Uncle...I was wondering about the inscription. On their...on my parents grave. How could death be...destroyed? What does that even mean?” 

His godfather took a deep breath as if bracing himself. “Harry, in life, we all face enemies. So many enemies. You’re mother and father fought against some of the darkest enemies the world has seen. Death...death was their last enemy.” 

“They’re at peace now,” Harry said softly. 

Sirius nodded, “It’s a promise, a promise of rest beyond this world. Your parents never lived in fear Harry, not even of death. I think...I think James once said something like ‘Eventually life must die to go on living.’ They didn’t fear the inevitable. When it came down to it, to save you, they greeted death without fear. Death only has the power over life we give it.” 

“That…” Harry took a deep breath, a knot of tension leaving his shoulders, “That makes sense. But how…” He turned to meet the older man’s gaze, “How do you live with it?” 

Sirius smiled distantly, pained, “That’s the hard part Harry, living. The moment we love we are doomed to feel loss Harry, but the moment we love we are somehow graced with the strength to survive it.” 


	5. Collapsing Inwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is ready to open up

**Collapsing Inwards**

The full moon came and passed without event, Remus and Sirius leaving to some safer location, and Harry spending several nights with the Weasleys. Summer days passed uneventfully as the three of them continued to find ways to cope, to go on living. 

Weeks later, in mid-August, Harry woke up from the throes of yet another nightmare, staring into the darkness as the terror lingered at the corners of his awareness. In his dreams horror haunted him, plagued him, destroyed him. He felt small, weak, vulnerable,  _ afraid _ .

_ Because you are.  _

Harry was so goddamn tired of feeling afraid. 

The clock on his nightstand read 4:56, and he realized with a feeling of apathetic resignation he wasn’t likely to fall back into any peaceful sleep that night. He was beginning to be afraid of even attempting to sleep now, knowing the terror inflicted by his mind would always be the same. Harry was cursed with all three types of insomnia; he struggled to get to sleep, woke up early, and barely rested in between. 

So he got up, wincing at the brightness of his lamp, casting about the room for something to distract himself with. He settled on the unfinished book on his desk, another muggle work of fiction Remus had pressed into his hands. It was lighthearted and fun, a blissful opportunity to escape the troubling darkness in the world they lived with. 

Harry stared at the first paragraph of the chapter he left off on, his eyes tracing along with the words several times before he realized he wasn’t comprehending a word. Suddenly his room, as cozy and as large as it normally seemed, felt tiny and suffocating. His thoughts seemed to echo back at him from the corners, a distracting, cacophonous symphony that refused to leave him in peace. Harry abruptly slammed the book shut, knowing he couldn’t bear to stay there another moment. 

Into the hallway he moved, grateful his door didn’t open loudly. He stared for a long moment at the door across the hall,  _ their  _ door, wondering if he could reach out to talk to them now. Part of him longed for, craved, the comfort they could have provided. 

Harry had found over the past few days he had reached that point he’d searched for, a point where he wanted to let them listen to him, but the moment never seemed right to start talking. Though he knew rationally he could wake them, could seek comfort even in the dead of the morning, he found he didn’t want to wake them. 

Neither of them seemed to sleep well either, Sirius especially so. He needed any rest he could get. The moment would present itself, but Harry wasn’t about to force it. If he did, he wasn’t sure he would have the strength to unburden himself like he needed to. 

_ Ungrateful of you to add to their burdens,  _ A voice stuck out of the other thoughts bouncing painfully around in his head.  _ Why do you make things difficult for everyone?  _

“Shut up,” Harry spoke out loud without meaning to, walking quickly down the hallway to the steps. The sixth step creaked slightly under the pressure, another aspect of the house that had sunk into his memory as part of what made home...home. It felt perfectly normal, he suddenly realized, to wander this house, even at night.

That too, like many small things over the past summer, felt strangely liberating. 

Down in the living room, he found himself surprised to not be greeted by complete darkness. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, but light also glowed from one of the lamps. Sirius sat by the light, staring off into the distance, not even noticing as Harry approached. 

“Uncle Sirius?” Harry said softly, sitting down on the sofa across from the armchair Sirius occupied like a corporeal ghost. 

“Harry?” Sirius turned abruptly, startled. There were dark circles under his eyes and a haunted look to his gaze. “What are you doing up?” 

Harry laughed, a soft sound in the silence of the night, “I think I’m up for the same reasons you are, Uncle,” He said softly. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

Sirius nodded, turning to look off into the distance, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

How many times had Sirius and Remus asked him that question that summer? Always caring, never pushing, always giving him space, never making him feel like he had to do anything at all. Harry hadn’t felt consistent, unconditional support like that from adults--ever. 

How many times had he said no? And they always relented, though he knew they both burned with questions, burned with concern that was practically tearing them apart. Harry wasn’t ready to talk then, wasn’t ready to face the reality of the past years of his life. But now…

“Yes,” He said. Such a quiet, yet firmly strong word in the night. 

Something in Sirius visibly relaxed, tension replaced by relief. He shifted to the sofa, putting an arm around Harry’s side, and it felt completely normal. “Nightmares?” Harry nodded, leaning into the embrace, “What were they about?” 

Harry pondered that for a moment, not sure where to begin. There was so much in that tangled knot inside his head. He wasn’t even sure where one issue began and one ended anymore. “A lot,” He said finally, “Too much. Don’t know where...don’t know where to start.” 

“The beginning?” 

Harry shook his head, “Last year,” He said softly, “I was so angry, all the time. It was exhausting. Nobody would tell me anything, it was all secrets and lies, and I thought...the idea that a friend had betrayed my parents hurt so much. And the Dursleys wouldn’t even sign my Hogsmeade form. And Hogwarts was surrounded by Dementors, all the time,” He sensed his godfather longer to interject, but knew he needed to keep going. “I felt so alone, and then you appeared, the real you, and I saw hope,” Harry shook, memories pulling at him, “And then I watched you almost die, Uncle Sirius.” Something in his chest felt lighter already, just openly addressing the exhaustion of last year. 

Sirius pulled him closer, holding him in silence for a moment. “I’m here Harry, I promise. I’m not leaving.” Harry found himself trusting that promise, leaning into it. 

“I know.” 

“And before that…?” 

“Before that...second year...second year the Chamber of Secrets opened. I started hearing the basilisk in the walls, but we didn’t know what it was, and then there was...blood writing on the wall and people started turning up petrified,” He shuddered at the memory. “And when people found out I could talk to snakes they thought it was me. And then Hermione...I was so terrified we were going to lose her. Ron and I followed the spiders and we ended up in that acromantula nest and I thought for a moment we weren’t going to make it out of there.” 

Sirius paled, “You faced an acromantula? When you were twelve?” 

Harry nodded, “And it only got worse. He...Voldemort's ghost or wraith or whatever...took Ginny into the Chamber of Secrets and it just seemed impossible but I knew we had to do something,” His throat constricted at the memory. “I found Ginny down there, half dead. That...bloody diary Voldemort, Tom Riddle, enchanted with his memory in school was possessing her. Between him and the Basilisk...I’m still not sure how we made it out of there.” 

“Bloody hell,” Sirius scowled, shaking his head tiredly. “Exactly how many times have you almost died Harry?” 

He shrugged, “Only four really I guess, five if you count when I was little.” 

“Five?” 

“First year I fought Voldemort’s disembodied soul possessing our Defense Against The Dark Arts professor. I don’t think the obstacles really would have killed us, Hermione kept us safe through them, though Ron got hurt pretty bad in the chess set. I really think people overreacted about the mountain troll at Halloween.” 

Sirius stared at him, “...come again, Harry?” 

Harry backtracked, though he wasn’t sure if Sirius looked any less concerned by the end of his explanation of the events leading up to their attempt to protect the stone. Still, somehow, it helped. He didn’t realize until he had let go of the words how much weight the past three years had left on his shoulders. 

“Merlin,” Sirius pulled him close again, “Promise me you won’t do anything like that again this year Harry. I am too old to deal with you almost dying again. I just...I wouldn’t be able to handle that.” He recognized the fear in his godfather’s voice and nodded, even knowing it didn’t seem to be a promise he could likely keep. 

“It’s not the almost dying that bothers me so much,” Harry said finally. “That just sort of seems to...happen. But...other people,” His breath caught in his chest, “You all die in my dreams. I’m never quick enough, never strong enough. You all...always die and it’s always my fault.” 

Harry broke apart then, letting Sirius hold him as he cried. His godfather rubbed small circles into his back, held him close, made the fear somehow bearable. It was still there, still lingering, but for the moment Sirius helped him hold back the darkness. They didn’t say anything for a long while, Harry struggling his way through an anxiety attack as some of the weight from the past three years left him. 

“Harry?” Sirius asked softly when his breathing had steadied, “Do you want to continue? You don’t have to be ready to talk about the rest tonight.” 

He suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion hit him, dragging at him, urging him to just close his eyes and forget everything. The little voice of guilt had even shut up in light of the exhaustion, not even having the energy to torment him at the moment. It promised a dead sleep, void of any dreams at all. Harry ignored it, not knowing if he would ever reach a point where he could continue if he stopped now. 

“No,” He straightened softly. “I need to continue.” 

Sirius nodded, “Whenever you’re ready.” He gave Harry the silence he needed. 

“My earliest memory,” Harry said softly, “Besides...besides the green light and...after that, my earliest memory is darkness Uncle Sirius. I lived in the cupboard under the stairs for eleven years. Sometimes they wouldn’t give me light,” He trembled slightly in Sirius’ embrace. “The worst times were when they would lock it. Sometimes they wouldn’t give me food. I still...I still can’t handle small spaces.” 

Sirius tensed, clearly furious and sorrowful at the same time. Harry gave him the time he needed, knowing his words held a deeper weight for the older man, “Oh Harry,” He finally said, “I’m...I’ll never forgive myself.” 

“It gets worse,” Harry warned, “I hadn’t even really thought about the cupboard until last year when the dementors started digging in my head for all my unpleasant memories.” He stood abruptly, reaching a decision, “I’m sorry...I shouldn’t have...I’ll just go back to bed…” 

Sirius stopped him before he could leave, placing a hand on his shoulder, “Harry,” He said softly, “If you do not wish to continue talking tonight I will not stop you. But please, do not stop on account of me.” 

“I don’t...want to burden you with my problems Uncle Sirius,” Harry said, fighting the words out between gritted teeth.

“Harry,” Sirius gently moved to look him directly in the eyes, “I am an adult. I might have some of my own issues but I am...I am your...I am responsible for you. I chose to be. It is my choice to be here for you, to take on your weight as my own. It’s our choice to care for you. That choice doesn’t belong to you, Harry. I care for you deeply, I love you, Remus loves you. Let us take care of you. You need it.” 

Harry found himself on the couch again, holding onto Sirius in the same way a drowning man clutches at a piece of driftwood at sea, “I don’t remember when...Vernon started hitting me. It was like the cupboard, a fear I just always learned to live with. Petunia had me doing chores before I was big enough to do them properly, they never seemed to be anything but a reason to show me how...show me how I was lazy and horrible really. I was never good enough. Until I was five I really didn’t even know my own name, I was just...boy.” 

Sirius shook his head, meeting his gaze steadily again, “Harry James Potter you are incredible. Those are nothing more than stupid, baseless, hateful lies. You matter, so damn much, and I never want you to have reason to doubt that.” 

Harry smiled grimly, “I know. I’ve even managed to remind myself to believe that...when I can manage it. But that...I can’t just forget it. Dudley was always so...perfect and I just...wasn’t.” He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the next part, “When I was seven I started to show...signs of magic. Strange things always happened around me, things muggles couldn’t explain. Of course, Petunia and Vernon understood exactly what was happening. Vernon...Vernon...it was different then. ‘Freak’ was somehow...always so much worse than boy. I was always afraid then, not just of him either, of myself.” 

“I’m…” Sirius, Harry realized distantly, was crying. “I’m so sorry Harry.” 

“Not your fault,” He managed to say. “I didn’t...I just got used to being alone. Dudley made sure I never had friends at school. I think for a few years I just sort...shut down internally to handle it all. When I got my Hogwarts letter...when I met Ron and Hermione...well, things got better Uncle Sirius. And now I’m here, and it’s all just...memories." 

Sirius held Harry, not trusting himself with words for a long while. “Harry, I would give anything for the ability to change the past right now. But I can’t, and that, my mistakes, are my burden to live with. It’s not...not everything’s going to be suddenly okay now.” 

Harry nodded, “I know. But...it’s like it’s collapsing inwards, the whole mess of it. It’s already...easier, somehow.” 

“I’ll be here, from here on out, I'll be here,” Sirius promised firmly. “We’ll make it through.” 


	6. Family

**Family**

Everything hurt. Harry wondered distantly how he survived the past hour at all. The Horntail had ripped open long gashes in his flesh, thrown him violently against the arena, and left one of his arms with severe burns. After he had the egg in hand he’d been lucky to stay standing long enough to hear from the judges. After that, he had promptly collapsed. 

He was aware of his surroundings only distantly. Madam Pomfrey was talking to him as she fussed about, shoving various potions into his hands and muttering various spells. Slowly the various sharper pains in his body faded to dull aches. He was lying in bed at the competitor tent, curtains drawn between him and the others. 

“Honestly,” Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms sternly. “I don’t know what they expect! And I thought Quidditch was bad. You’ll have to stay in the Hospital Wing for a couple of days Mr. Potter, and I will not hear your arguments on the matter.” Harry nodded, not up to arguing at all. 

“Where is he?!” A familiar voice demanded from beyond the curtains, “Where is Harry?” 

“I’m sorry Mr. Black but only family is allowed in the tent at this time,” A stern voice answered. “Mr. Potter needs time to recover.” 

“I am his family goddammit!” Something warm and comforting bloomed in Harry’s chest at that open declaration, an overwhelming feeling. Before, when he ended up in the Hospital Wing, he’d never had anyone but his friends to visit. This, this was different. 

_ You’re trouble. You’re a burden. He doesn’t need this extra stress. Why’d you have to-- _

_ Well it’s not as if I intentionally entered this bloody tournament, is it?  _

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Madam Pomfrey sighed, leaving the curtains and talking briskly to several people on the other side. Moments later Sirius rushed in, Remus following quietly behind him. 

Harry smiled, “Uncle Sirius...hey.” 

“Hey kiddo,” Sirius sat down in one of the chairs by the bed, moving to hold Harry’s hand, as if he needed reassurance Harry was still there. “Gave us quite the fright out there. You okay?” 

_ Don’t worry him. Don’t worry him. Don’t worry him.  _

Harry shrugged, “Just fought a dragon. All things considered…” 

Sirius grinned ruefully, “I thought we agreed no more near-death experiences, Harry?” 

“Can’t help it,” He muttered. “It’s not like I went looking for it this time either.” 

Sirius nodded, “I know Harry, I know….” He trailed off, clearly wanting to help but not knowing quite how. “Are you in pain? How can we help you?” 

Harry looked between their worried faces for a moment, feeling another pang of guilt for the weight of their concern. He shook his head, “Madam Pomfrey took care of it. It’s not so bad really now, just sort of collapsed then because the adrenaline left me. I’m okay now,” He shrugged again, mindful of various protesting muscles, “I’ve had worse.” 

His godfather’s gaze darkened, “Harry…” Sirius took a deep breath. “You know that doesn’t change anything right? Pain is pain, whether it is from today or a decade ago.” 

“It’s okay to not be okay, Harry,” added Remus from where he stood. 

A memory of Sirius’ voice from that summer echoes back at Harry,  _ “It’s our choice to care for you.”  _

Harry was silent for a moment, the comfort of their presence overwhelming the voice screaming he didn’t deserve to worry them. After a moment, he smiled, “I really am okay though.” He managed to say, his voice catching slightly. “I’m...not alone. You guys came to support me. You didn’t have to. But you did.” 

“Oh Harry,” Sirius reached, brushing his tangled black hair gently off his forehead. “We wouldn’t have been anywhere else for the world today.” 

A comfortable silence ensued between the three of them for a moment, Remus finding his way to an extra chair and sitting down. Harry wasn’t sure how he would have handled the tournament without them, how he could have kept going alone through everything. Eventually, he was sure, it would have destroyed him. 

Memories of the past few months, of Remus and Sirius being there every moment he needed help, surrounded and enveloped him. He remembered the look of fury when Sirius stormed into the castle after learning about the Goblet of Fire, how comforting it had been to have someone angry  _ for  _ him, rather than  _ at  _ him. The golden egg sat ominously on his nightstand, promising a puzzle he had nowhere to begin on. Harry was confident that whatever it was, he had people who would help him through it. 

And that would make it all bearable. 

“That was some incredible flying, Harry,” Sirius said finally, breaking the silence. “I can’t wait to cheer you on properly in a Quidditch match, you’ve certainly got James’ talent on a broom.” 

Harry grinned, “I think I’d much rather take bludgers over a Horntail.” 

Sirius smiled, “I do believe I’d prefer that as well. Harry…” He trailed off again, and Harry gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. “I wish for all the world I could get you out of this damn tournament,” He gestured to the egg. “It terrifies me to think what you might have to face before we get to the other side of this,” Here he met Harry’s gaze firmly. “But I promise you, we're going to get through this.” 

Harry squeezed his godfather’s hand in reassurance, “I know.” 

“And I am so...so goddam proud of you,” Sirius continued. 

Remus nodded, “We both are, Harry.” 

“Thank you,” Harry’s voice faded to barely a whisper, choking on emotions in his chest. A wave of weariness suddenly overtook him as several of the potions began to take full effect, “Can I ask...you guys a favor?” He murmured, his voice slurred with sudden exhaustion. 

“Anything Harry, anything.” 

“Can you maybe just stay till I fall asleep?” 

Someone began rubbing soft, reassuring circles on his shoulder, “Of course Harry, always. We’ll be here when you wake up. Just sleep now.” 

* * *

Sirius watched Harry sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a soft, steady rhythm. An overpowering feeling of protectiveness overtook him, a desire to wrap Harry in a big fluffy blanket and not let anyone near him ever again. He knew he couldn’t, knew his godson was a strong, capable wizard in his own right who had proven he could hold his own, but it didn’t stop him from wanting to try. Sirius knew he would blame himself for every hurt the world inflicted upon his godson, cursing himself for not being able to protect him. 

Contemplating the final two tasks terrified him. 

“Padfoot,” Remus said finally, breaking the hush of their vigil and placing a hand on his shoulder, not unlike how he had done to comfort Harry. “You can’t blame yourself for this too. There’s nothing we can do to stop this tournament.” 

“I know,” Sirius spoke through clenched teeth. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair anxiously, “I just wish...there has to be something more we can do. I wasn’t there for him for so long and now… I just need to...when...when he collapsed like that...I thought…” Something in him broke apart, emotions he had firmly clamped down on for Harry’s sake, and he felt shuddering sobs escape him, “I thought we lost him, Remus.” 

“Shh,” Remus pulled him into a soft embrace. “I know Sirius. I felt it too.” 

“I can’t...I can’t lose him Moony!” Sirius shuddered with the released anxiety, struggling to keep himself from entirely falling apart. “I just can’t. He’s all...he’s all we’ve got left. I just...I couldn’t survive it. I wouldn’t survive it.” 

Remus let Sirius cry for a moment, aware that silent tears were leaving him as well as the stress of the situation became too much to bear silently. Parts of Remus wanted desperately to reassure his partner, to reassure them both, that everything would be alright, everything would be easy from here on out, but he knew he couldn’t. They both knew the road ahead was doomed to be uphill.

Instead, Remus offered the only comfort he could think of, “We’ll be here for him, Sirius. Every step of the way. That’s all we can do, and it might not feel like nearly enough, but it’s all we’ve got right now. We’re his family. Merlin, Harry deserves that much from us. We have to stay strong for him. The best we can do is make sure he doesn’t face this alone.” 


	7. When Faced With Horror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the events in the graveyard

** When Faced With Horror **

Harry slammed into the ground with a tremendous force. Even as he felt his body pressing into the cool grass and earth, he was sure the world was still spinning around him. If he let go of Cedric, if let go of the Cup, he was sure he would fall away forever into that twisting darkness. So he didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t even dare open his eyes, terrified he would open them and find himself still in the graveyard. 

Breathing felt like a distant, impossible effort. Oxygen seized in his lungs, every gasping, shuddering breath seared with pain. He had to consciously force each breath. 

All the while, his scar burned with a dull pain on his forehead. 

Everything hurt. Why did everything always hurt? The cut on his arm burned, still oozing blood Harry was sure. His leg ached with the pain of something broken, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand back up. His left wrist, which felt like the stone of the gravestone had nearly crushed, hung limply, burning with stabs of pain every time he attempted to move. Every muscle in his body seemed to shake, tremble violently. Harry had never considered the lingering effects of the cruciatus curse, but now he was experiencing them first hand. 

Voldemort’s voice echoed at the edges of his mind, taunting and screaming curses,  _ that  _ curse, over and over and over again and then telling him to stand and duel...it was all too much...the pain, too great. Harry knew in moments he had been close to wishing, begging, for death. 

Sound pressed in from every side, a deafening torrent of sensation. Somewhere a band was playing, then abruptly quit. Cheers, then whispered murmurs, then a distant scream. His head pulsated with the noise, pain stabbing into his temples like physical blows. Harry remained unmoving, his eyes screwed shut as if that could hold out the noise. Part of him desperately wished for the chance to just wake up from this nightmare. 

“Harry!  _ Harry! _ ”

He opened his eyes. 

Above him, the stars of the night shone softly, pinpricks of light in the darkness. Dumbledore crouched beside him. Distantly the dark shadows of the crowd pushed in, the ground reverberating with their footsteps. Harry was back at the edge of the maze. Somehow, the realization that he had made it back was not as reassuring as it should have been. 

_ Your fault.  _

Releasing the Cup, holding to Cedric even tighter, Harry clutched desperately at Dumbledore’s wrist, searching for anything to ground him in the moment as the world swam in and out of focus, “He’s back. Voldemort.” Harry could barely whisper. 

Dumbledore’s face grew solemn and dark. Distantly he heard people shouting, someone saying Cedric’s name. Fudge appeared out of the crowd, shouted something to Dumbledore. A steadier, older, worn hand pried his fingers away from Cedric. 

“Harry, you can’t help him now. It’s over. Let go.” 

Harry let go, let the older, surprisingly strong, man help him back to his feet, “Cedric.” He muttered. It felt somehow important, vital to explain. “He wanted me to bring him back. He wanted me to bring him back...back to his parents...Cedric…I couldn't...I couldn't leave him...not there..” 

“Harry,” He heard the professor’s voice only distantly, as if through water. The world swam around him, growing blurry and distant. People were screaming, sobbing. Cedric’s father was weeping, clutching at the body of his son. The scene flickered before him, drew in and out of focus. The pounding in his skull grew, his scar burning. 

“Voldemort,” He turned abruptly to Dumbledore, cutting through the din with his voice. Harry's voice rose to a near yell, “He’s back. He’s back!” Suddenly he could not support his own weight and he stumbled again, his legs buckling under him. 

Strong, reassuring arms caught him, held him close, kept him from colliding with the ground, “Harry. Harry, stay with me!” 

Sirius was there, Sirius was  _ there.  _ Sirius was a solid presence in a world of shifting smoke. Harry felt himself melt into his godfather’s embrace. At that moment it felt like the only thing stopping him from falling into the darkness. Sirius was steady, Sirius was safety. 

Everything hurt. He screwed his eyes shut tight again, fighting back the urge to vomit. When he did he saw the memories, the flash of curses, of blinding green light, imprinted into the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t escape it, couldn’t wake up from the nightmare that surrounded him. 

“Harry,” That voice, so familiar from the past year, drew him back. “Harry it’s all right now. I’ve got you, you’re safe. Harry, you’re safe now.” 

Harry forced himself to reopen his eyes, to focus on Sirius, “He’s back. Uncle Sirius...he’s back. Voldemort's back!” 

“Oh, my boy,” Sirius pulled him closer again, and they were both shaking then, with fear and pain. The unimaginable, the worst demon of their nightmares, had crawled its way into their reality. The darkness had crawled its way out of their past to torment their present.

The events of the night were nothing short of horrific. 

“Sirius,” Dumbledore’s voice returned, but Harry heard it only distantly. “Take him back to the Hospital Wing. I’ll be there shortly. We need to know what happened.” 

Sirius nodded. Steadying himself with a shuddering breath, Sirius braced himself and helped Harry back to his feet, supporting the majority of his weight. “Come on Harry, to the Hospital Wing now.” 

Remus was there a second later, pushing himself through the crowd to get to them, holding them both close in a tight hug. Between the two of them, they supported Harry, practically carrying him, back to the castle. Once again, Harry had no idea how he would have survived without their presence. 

Later, Harry could barely remember walking back to the castle at all. His vision swam with darkness and light at the edges, and the lingering effects of the cruciatus left him shaking. Remus and Sirius’ voices overlapped in a soft symphony of half-heard reassurances. Before he knew it he was on a bed in the Hospital Wing. 

Somewhere distant, Remus was talking to Madam Pomphrey, “Broken leg...hurt wrist...cruciatus...don’t know how long...gash on his arm…needs to talk to Albus...” 

“Harry,” Sirius was brushing the hair of his forehead, softly. “Harry you are so brave, so strong kiddo. I’m so sorry.” 

Harry shook his head, at a loss for words, biting back the tears. 

“Where are you hurting Harry?” 

Where indeed? What didn’t hurt? What was life anymore, if not continual pain? 

“Everywhere,” He managed a hoarse whisper, distantly aware his throat hurt too, from long minutes of screaming. “Everything.” 

“Shh,” Sirius murmured as Pomphrey approached. Harry took the potions pressed into his hands as she spoke spells over him, reknitting the bones in his leg and wrist with soft pops. The shaking slowly subsided, the pain slowly dulled, and Harry was left feeling nothing but dull exhaustion, hollow emptiness. 

Suddenly the world grew into sharper focus around him, the worried faces of his uncles looking on him, the Hospital wing around him, the events of the graveyard…

A sob broke through his chest, the tight knot of memories wound around the events breaking apart. Cedric’s eyes, devoid of any light of life, stared back at him. Sirius gathered Harry gently in his arms, sitting on the bed and helping him sit up, held him close as he struggled to process everything. Harry rested his head on his godfather's chest, burying his face into the familiar presence. He focused on the steady rise and fall of his godfather’s breathing, the feeling of calloused fingers coming through his hair, the steady, soft rocking motion of Sirius’ body. 

Eventually, he felt the storm of his emotions begin to subside. Sirius let him lay back down, propped up with several pillows. He didn’t move his hand from Harry’s, probably gathering as much reassurance from the touch as Harry did. Together they waited for Dumbledore, both bracing themselves for the words Harry needed to speak. 

It seemed impossible to convey the totality of the horror of the night. Harry wasn’t sure there were the right words in the English language, in any language of the world, in all of the languages of the world. There was nothing to do but wait. 

After a period of time that could have been hours or minutes, Dumbledore strode in through the door, walking quickly to Harry’s bed. There was exhaustion in his features, mixed with anger, but also concern, deep concern. 

Harry suddenly remembered. He should have told Dumbledore sooner, should have said it straight away, now they were all in danger--

“There’s a Death Eater at Hogwarts! There’s a Death Eater...they put my name in the Goblet of Fire...they made sure I was the one to get to the port key, we have--”

Dumbledore nodded his head, “I know who the Death Eater is, Harry,” He said quietly. 

“Who?!” Sirius demanded, turning abruptly, “I’ll rip them--” 

“Sirius, there is no need tonight. Let me explain,” Dumbledore sank into one of the chairs beside Harry’s bed, looking suddenly much older. “It appears our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this year was not who he appeared to be.” 

Harry listened in horror as Dumbledore began to describe how they had found Barty Crouch, disguised as Mad-Eye, fleeing the castle, and what he had said later. Gears clicked into place in Harry’s head. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. Still, he could only find it in him to half-listen. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to simply sleep. 

“Is Mad-Eye...the real Mad-Eye, okay?” Remus finally asked. 

Dumbledore nodded, “He will be brought here shortly. But now, it is imperative I understand what happened after you touched the Portkey in the maze, Harry.” 

“Can’t we leave this till morning, Dumbledore?” Sirius asked softly, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Let him sleep. Let him rest.” Harry wished, for all the world, that he could do just that, just let himself forget for a while. But he couldn’t. 

_ Your fault.  _

He forced himself to look up, to meet Dumbledore’s blue eyes firmly with his own, “No, Uncle Sirius, I need to talk about this now.” 

Harry took a deep breath, using Sirius’ presence to help brace himself, and began to tell them everything he could remember. As he spoke he fought the visions of the night, which seemed to swim before his eyes. 

Cedric lay dead. The surface of the inky black potion shimmered. Wormtail drew a knife to carve into Harry’s flesh, a knife already stained crimson with blood. Voldemort rose from the potion, a skeletal figure of death, shrouded and cloaked in darkness. Death Eaters apparated in to surround them in a wide circle. A phantom, a memory, of the pain of the cruciatus curse surrounded him. 

Sirius made as if to say something several times but was stopped by Dumbledore and Remus, for which Harry was grateful. Several times it seemed momentum was the only thing keeping him going as the words poured out of him. Neither of his Uncles could contain their anger when he described what Wormtail had done, Sirius swore loudly. But they managed to continue, Dumbledore looking somewhat defeated as Harry explained how Voldemort had overcome the blood wards. When they reached the point where the wands connected, Harry finally found himself at a loss for words. 

“Your parents?” Dumbledore’s voice was soft, gentle. 

Harry nodded. Sirius and Remus both buried their heads in their hands, fighting back their own pain and grief. Dumbledore explained priori incantatem, and somehow, Harry found the strength to continue. When he reached Cedric’s final request, he found the words finally dying in his throat. 

As if sensing he could no longer continue, Dumbledore rose to his feet, “I must say this, Harry, you have shown bravery beyond anything that could have been expected of you tonight. You have shouldered a grown wizard’s burden and found yourself equal to it, you have given us much more than we ever have had the right to expect from you, as you have done in the past. I will leave you with your family now. Poppy will bring you a Sleeping Potion.” Dumbledore turned then and walked away, only stopping briefly to talk to Madam Pomphrey. 

After several moments of silence, Sirius leaned in to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder again, “Harry,” He cast a desperate glance to Remus, and appeared somewhat steadied by it. “There’s...more than you addressed with Dumbledore. When...who…” Sirius trailed off, at a loss for words. 

“Harry,” Remus stepped in, sensing Sirius couldn’t bear the question. “Who put you under the cruciatus curse?” 

Harry flinched, shoving the memory in a corner by force of will, “Voldemort,” he said finally, a hoarse whisper. “Before I dueled him. He...he  _ liked  _ it. He enjoyed hurting me. By the time he told me to face him and duel, I could barely stand.” 

Both of them looked to be holding back waves of emotion If Sirius hadn’t looked murderous before, he did now. Remus swore softly under his breath, “Cruciatus at fourteen, dear Merlin.” 

Madam Pomfrey, who had left earlier to tend to the real Mad-Eye, returned holding a bottle of something purple and a goblet, “You’ll need to drink all of this, Harry,” She said, “It’s a potion for dreamless sleep.” 

Harry nodded and took the goblet, drinking and letting Sirius help him lie back down. Within seconds the world around him grew hazy and dark and his body seemed to be sinking into a cloud of numbness. Before he could say another word, exhaustion carried him away to sleep. He embraced it, grateful for any respite. 


	8. With the Grace Of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eventually life must die to go on living

** With The Grace Of Love **

Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius counter Bellatrix’s jet of red light: He was laughing at her. “Come on, you can do better than that!” He yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. 

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. 

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock. 

Harry let go of Neville, though he was not consciously aware of doing so. He found himself jumping back down the stairs, pulling out his wand, running, his feet pounding out a frantic tempo as he desperately tried to reach his godfather. Dumbledore turned to the dais, watching Harry with an expression of sadness. 

It seemed to take Sirius ages to fall. Blood bloomed from unseen wounds in his chest, and his body began to crumble to the ground, his legs buckling underneath him…

_No._

And Harry saw the look of mingled fear, surprise, and remorse on his godfather’s face as their eyes met. Distantly he heard the triumphant scream of Bellatrix Lestrange, but he ignored it, running with a conviction that if he just reached Sirius in time...it wouldn’t matter…

“Uncle Sirius!” Harry yelled, “Uncle Sirius!” 

He reached the floor where his godfather lay with a leap, oxygen seizing in his lungs as he forced himself to keep breathing in searing gasps. Harry pressed his hands against the wounds, knowing he had to stop the blood flow, knowing he had to do something, anything. 

“Harry…” Sirius’ eyes met his.

“Uncle Sirius,” Harry’s hands shook violently. Uncle Siri--Dad, stay with me! Please...” 

Blood ran from the corners of his mouth and Sirius coughed, weakly, “I love you.” 

And Harry watched the light leave his godfather’s eyes. 

“Dad?” It came out as barely a whisper. There was no reply. 

There was movement going on around them, pointless bustling, the flashes of spells and curses. It was meaningless noise, distant action. None of it mattered. A curse flew straight towards him and Harry couldn’t find any strength to move or counter. It would have hit him if Remus didn’t step in at that moment, finally reaching them. 

“Help him,” Harry turned to Remus, desperation in his eyes. “Help him!” 

Remus looked stricken for a moment, staring in silence. Then he moved quickly, grabbing Harry and holding him close, pulling him away, “There’s nothing we can do. Harry--” 

“Get him, help him, help me save him! Please, we have to... “ 

“It’s too late Harry,” Remus began to pull him to his feet, away from Sirius. 

“We can still--

Harry struggled and fought, but Remus refused to let go. “There’s nothing we can do Harry,” The older wizard’s voice began to catch on his breath as he held back his tears. “Harry...nothing...he’s gone, Harry.” 

“He...he hasn’t gone!” Harry yelled. 

He did not believe it, refused to believe it, refused to let her win like that. Still, he fought against Remus’ hold and still Remus held tight, holding him close. He was wrong, Harry insisted to himself, he had to be wrong Sirius couldn’t be...gone. 

“DAD!” Harry screamed, cries of anguish escaping him, straining, “SIRIUS-DAD! 

“He’s gone Harry,” Remus said, his voice breaking as he struggled to hold him back. “He’s gone. He’s de--” 

“He isn’t dead!” Harry bellowed, “Sirius!” 

“Harry,” Remus continued to drag him away from the platform where Sirius had fallen, pulling them away from the fighting still raging around them. Someone else ran forward to continue the duel with Lestrange. Something in him finally broke and Harry suddenly sagged, losing the energy to fight against Remus any longer. A broken sob tore its way out of his chest. 

“Remus he’s…” Harry stared at the unmoving body. Remus pulled him close as they made their way to cover, held Harry as if he was the last concrete thing in existence. Harry stared at his hands, stained red, and began to tremble. 

“Shh, I know,” Remus spoke softly. 

“Harry?” 

Neville had slid down the stone benches one by one to reach them. Harry stopped struggling entirely against Remus, feeling a gaping emptiness opening in his heart. Harry could barely nod and halfway listen as Remus talked to Neville. Every word that left the older wizard seemed to cause him pain. 

There was suddenly a loud band and a yell of pain from behind the dais. Harry saw Kingsley hit the ground. Bellatrix Lestrange turned tail and ran as Dumbledore whipped around. He aimed a spell at her but she deflected it. She was headed up the steps then, escaping. 

A wave of rage hit Harry in the center of his resolve. Harry was sure at that moment he had never felt true hatred before, not like this. This went beyond anger. He pushed past all pain, physical and emotional, scrambling to his feet. 

“Harry-no!” Remus cried out, but Harry had already ripped himself free from his grip. 

“SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” Bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED MY DAD-I’LL KILL HER!” 

And he was off, scrambling in desperation after her. People were shouting behind him, Remus was shouting behind him, running after him, but he did not care. His rage focused to a point, the hem of Bellatrix’s robes whipping out of sight, and it drove him forward. He had to do something, anything, to fight the pain. He had to do something, somehow, to make it right. 

Harry ran past his friends, barely registered their presence, and entered the circular black hall just as she left it, slamming the door behind her. Once more the room spun, twisting around him. Harry followed Bellatrix, hell-bent on revenge. 

He found himself standing in the Atrium, facing  _ her _ . 

“Come out, come out, little Harry!” She called out in a mocking voice, which echoed hollowly against the room. “What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!” 

“I am!” Harry screamed, “You killed my father!” 

Bellatrix cackled with laughter, “Aaaaah...did you  _ love _ him, little baby Potter!” 

The hatred returned, full force. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed,  _ “Crucio!”  _

Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but it did little more than that. She did not writhe and shriek with pain as he had seen other’s, she was already back on her feet. Breathless, no longer laughing, but hardly phased. Harry moved quickly, dodging her return curse. 

“Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” She yelled. "You have to really mean it, to want to inflict pain! Your righteous anger won't stop me! I'll have to give you a lesson,  _ crucio!"  _

Harry leaped to dodge behind the statue, knowing as soon as he did he was a second too late. The curse caught him, drove him screaming to his knees. Bellatrix cackled above his pain, the sounds reverberating and echoing off the high ceiling of the Atrium. 

_ Your fault! Your fault! Your fault! _

_ No! _

When the pain abruptly stopped, after time had ceased to hold any real meaning to harry, he crumbled with a shuddering sob to the floor of the Atrium. Distantly he was aware of Bellatrix, knew that he had to move before everything was over, but he could not find the strength to stand. 

_ You are incredibly brave, kiddo. You stood up then. You can stand up now.  _

Harry screwed his eyes shut, knowing he must certainly be imagining the voice. It wasn't real, could not be real. Sirius was gone. 

_ So make him proud. Make your parents proud. Stand. Fight it.  _

With a guttural cry of pain and sheer force of will, Harry shoved himself to his feet, dodging behind the statue as spellfire blasted through the air. Curses flew between them, Harry forced to dodge and run around, knowing what she said as she taunted him was  _ right _ \--he was no match for her. 

He refused to die quietly. 

“Potter, I am going to give you one chance!” Bellatrix screeched, “Give me the prophecy, roll it toward me now, and I may spare your life!” 

A broken laugh escaped him, “Well, you’re going to have to kill me too because it’s gone!” Harry shouted, and as he did, pain seared into his forehead. His scar was again on fire, and he felt a wave of fury completely disconnected from his own rage. The realization hit him, “And he knows! Your dear old mate Voldemort knows it’s gone! He’s not going to be happy with you, is he?” 

His scar seared and burned, the pain of it forcing tears from his eyes. 

And then Voldemort was there, and Dumbledore appeared moments later. Powerful magic, terrible magic, rippled through the air as the two of them dueled. Harry hid off to the side, desperately seeking shelter. 

Then he was gone, almost as suddenly as he had appeared. Harry made to run out from behind his guard, but Dumbledore bellowed, “Stay where you are, Harry!” For the first time, Dumbledore seemed quite frightened. Harry could not see why, looking around the empty Atrium, and then his scar burst open with pain. It made what Bellatrix had inflicted seem inconsequential by comparison. 

He knew he must be surely dead. It was pain beyond imagining, pain past any endurance, pain unlike anything else he had survived. He was gone from the hall, he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where he ended and the creature began. There was no escape. 

And when the creature spoke it used Harry’s mouth, so that in his agony, he felt his jaw move…

“Kill me now Dumbledore…” 

Blinded by the pain, every part of him screaming beyond release, Harry felt the creature speak…

“If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…” 

_ Let the pain stop,  _ Harry though somewhere.  _ Let him kill us...End it, Dumbledore...Death is nothing compared to this… _

_ And I’ll see Sirius again… _

“Harry!” A familiar voice cried out, somehow broke through the red haze, and familiar arms wrapped around him. Not Sirius, Remus. “No! Stay with me, Harry! I can’t lose you too!” 

And suddenly, Harry understood. 

He was not afraid to die, if it meant the end of the pain, part of him longed for it. But Sirius had died, had faced the last enemy, to come to Harry’s aide. He had done so without fear because there was something stronger than death. Propelled by love, Sirius had lived refusing to let death control him, and thus destroyed the control death held over his life. Now Sirius was at peace, beyond any enemies. 

Sirius lived his life driven by love, not fear. 

And as Harry’s heart overflowed with that love, the coils of the creature loosened, the pain began to subside. Harry was shivering as though he lay on ice, gasping for air as if he had nearly drowned. But Remus was there, a steady presence, holding him close. 

The waves of anger and pain were suddenly replaced with a hollow emptiness, and Harry was left with only exhaustion as the adrenaline finally left him. 

* * *

Sometime later, Harry found himself sitting on the sofa at Lupin cottage, at  _ home _ . The events of the past days were too much to handle. Dumbledore's explanation of the prophecy, the angry words of their argument, the words printed in  _ The Daily Prophet-- _ all seemed small and distant when compared with the gaping pain in his chest. He would be staying with Remus, though officially Dumbledore had to be appointed as his guardian. 

Nothing seemed even remotely important anymore. 

Remus walked in from the kitchen, pressed a cup of hot tea firmly into Harry’s hands. Harry could only stare at it, not finding the will to even take a sip. They sat in silence for a long time, both overcome with what had happened. 

Finally, Remus drew a letter out of his robes and handed it to Harry, “Harry…” He began, only to trail off, “Sirius and I...after last year, we knew...we knew one of us might not make it. We both wrote letters. He...Sirius had my letter to you, and I have his letter.” 

Harry stared at the envelope before him, feeling the worn parchment in his hands. He hesitated for a moment, unwilling to read his godfather's last words. “I...it’s stupid really,” Harry wiped away a stray tear, feeling foolish. “I can’t...as long as I don’t read this, he still has something left to say. If I read this...if I read this he’s really...gone.” 

“Oh, Harry,” Remus pulled him into a soft embrace. “Sirius  _ is  _ gone. We have to...we have to let him go, Harry.” 

Harry nodded, distantly trying to come to terms with Remus’ words. As Remus had spoken the truth had settled around them like a thick cloud of smoke, impossibly to simply brush aside. It hurt. It hurt like hell, pain greater than any spell. 

Across the front of the envelope was his name, written in Sirius’ steady script. He turned the letter over and, not really knowing what to feel, broke the red wax seal. With shaking hands he unfolded the page of parchment and began to read. 

_ Harry,  _

_ It pains me to consider the circumstances you must be reading this under. I wish for all the world we lived in a time of certainty and safety, but after recent events, I know it is not so. I have every intention of dying peacefully one day of old age, after watching you grow up and meeting your children and living a long life, but I know we do not choose our fates, Harry.  _

_ I am sorry I could not keep my promise to always be there for you, but remember that the ones who love us never truly leave us. You can always find them in your heart. Know this: you will never know how much you are loved, Harry. I do not possess the words to tell you, nor does any language in the world. My love is always here Harry, even if I am gone.  _

A small sob tore its way out of Harry's chest and he was forced to stop reading for several moments. Remus consoled him as best he could, even as the older wizard struggled with his own grief. Steeling himself--having found the strength to begin, Harry was desperate for every word--he continued. 

_ The past year I have had with you has been one of the best parts of my life Harry. I feared once my life was doomed to end in Azkaban, utterly alone. I will never forgive myself for the mistakes I have made in my life, but somehow, you did. You gave me the chance to live again. You are incredible Harry.  _

_ You have so much more than just your father’s looks. You have courage and strength beyond your years. I don’t understand how someone so young can be so strong and can stare the horror of the world down as you have. Remember, the greatest weapon of our enemy is fear. Stay strong Harry.  _

_ You have so much more than just your mother’s eyes. You hold within you an incredible capacity for love. Love is the greatest weapon we hold in the war I fear is coming. Hold on to it with every fiber of your being Harry, let it be the star that guides you.  _

_ You are something uniquely, incredibly, you.  _

_ I know your heart must hurt as you read this Harry, but I beg of you, hold on to what you can. If it was fighting the darkness as I perished then I have died a good death. Grieve, but let those who love you in. You are so strong, Harry. You are so loved. You will make it through this. Let them help you.  _

_ Know that of all my regrets, you were never one. You were the best thing to ever happen in my life. I must go to death now knowing I have left some good in the world. I do not fear the end, for it is inevitable. Eventually, Life must Die to go on Living. I thought at one point death was what gave our lives meaning Harry, I was wrong.  _

_ Living gives our deaths meaning.  _

_ You gave my life meaning, Harry.  _

_ I will love you always,  _

_ Sirius.  _

Tears coated his face as he read, and when he reached the end, Harry fell apart. Remus pulled him into a tight hug, murmuring soft words and rubbing circles into his back as they both cried. Someone deeply important to their lives had been ripped cruelly away from them, and Harry was sure the world would never be quite all right again. 

Harry shook his head, taking shuddering breaths trying to find some strength to control himself, “How...what...how do we go on?” 

“I don’t know Harry,” Remus said, and he suddenly sounded much older. “I don’t know.” 

Unbidden, the voice of his godfather echoed back at Harry from a distant memory. 

_ “The moment we love we are doomed to feel loss, Harry, but the moment we love we are somehow graced with the strength to survive it.”  _


End file.
